


Dinner ala Trixie

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Cooking, Dinner, Dinner Party, Family, Family Dinners, Gen, entertaining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 18:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15031190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: Trixie's mom raised her right and to prove it, she's throwing her first dinner party.





	Dinner ala Trixie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



One lesson that Trixie’s mom has reiterated all of her life is that it’s important to reciprocate. If someone gives you something or does something nice for you, you return the favor as best you can. ‘Paying it forward’ is another thing entirely--ideally, you do both: Replay the original favor _and_ do something kind for someone else.

Since the evening she got home to discover her bedroom remodeled, Trixie has been thinking about how she can repay the friends who’d given her such a comfortable space. 

“I’m thinking of having a dinner party,” she tells Jupiter as they’re painting said room. 

“That’s ambitious,” he responds, his roller zig-zagging off-white “W”s on the recently applied drywall. “What’s the occasion?”

Trixie is painting the wall behind her headboard yellow. The wall opposite has mismatched shutters concealing the little half-bath, and the walls on either side of them are pink and peach. Jones Salvage Yard has contributed the paint. 

“Well, everybody was so sweet, fixing up my room, I was thinking your aunt and uncle, Hans and Konrad, Mart and Ben--and you, of course.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” is his sincere reply. Trixie has a way of conjuring adventures out of thin air--a dinner party? With her knack for the unexpected, Cirque du Soliel may come knocking on the door during the salad course, offering to perform for their supper. “But don’t expect Hans and Konrad--they don’t mix work with their private lives.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll at least ask,” Trixie says stubbornly. “Having my own little bathroom is wonderful! They should know how much I appreciate it.”

As predicted, Trixie asks and the brothers decline. According to Konrad, there’s a craft beer event that weekend. His brother claims concert tickets. Or theater tickets--he’s not clear, and Trixie finally shrugs, thanks them for their efforts for the seventh time, and focuses on her menu.

“Do you guys have any allergies I should know about?” she asks Aunt Mathilda. 

“Not at all. We’re both exemplary guests and will eat what we’re served,” Mathilda Jones says with a grin. “As long as you’re eating it, too.”

“As opposed to what? Sitting back and watching to see if it’s poisoned?”

“Underdone, overdone, too much salt, too much hot sauce, can’t tell what it’s supposed to be--that sort of thing.”

“Marmalade and toast all around!” As the creator of Belden Farms Artisnal Preserves, Trixie can joke about it, since it’s one kitchen specialty she knows she’s mastered. “Any objection to pork chops?”

Mathilda has seen the sale ads, and knows there’s a special on pork chops this week. She’s bought a quantity for the Jones family freezer. “Pork chops sound lovely.”

Helen Belden would have been impressed by her daughter’s industry in preparing for the big night. She inveigles Ben into dragging the area rug outside and beating the dirt out of it. The dome’s tile floor is mopped thoroughly--twice, because there’s a lot of muck tracked in on a farm. Trixie dusts everything she can reach, then badgers one of the taller members of the household into dusting the rest.

The recipe box of index cards that her mom sent contains a recipe for ham steaks with a marmalade glaze, which sounds scrumptious, and isn’t--she studies it carefully--going to need any esoteric ingredients. (“What, no eye of newt?” Mart snarks.)

More than anything, she wants her first grown-up attempt at hostessing to go smoothly--her mother always made it look so easy, Trixie thinks ruefully. A simple supper for six people? Why, she did that every night! To say nothing of all her open house events…she could pull this off in her sleep. _I have to start somewhere_ , Trixie keeps repeating to herself. 

Setting an attractive table is tricky. Trixie contemplates taking down the lace tablecloth she’s using as a bedroom curtain--however, the table is round, while the cloth is a rectangle--small from side-to-side but hanging way down at either end. She opts for place mats, a simple and inexpensive fix. Maybe flowers? She’d have to buy them in a pot or an arrangement--she doesn’t have that kind of garden. Wait, she can pot some greenery and use it on the table! She’s proud of her solution…then the day of her party arrives, and she doesn’t think of it until she’s up to her elbows in food prep. 

Thankfully, Jupiter shows up early as she’s setting out flatware on the new place mats and he brings with him what he modestly calls a hostess gift. She recognizes the Scottie-dog planter from the Jones Salvage Yard, but the hole in its back has acquired green and white caladiums since she saw it last. 

“Uncle Titus is seeing his orthopod for a follow-up,” Jupe explains. “He and Aunt Mathilda will be here directly afterward, but she thought I should bring that with me so it wouldn’t wilt in the car in the warm weather. Meanwhile, is there anything I can help you with?”

Trixie glances around the kitchen. It isn’t a complicated menu, and she has most of it done already. She breathes a sigh of relief that she hadn’t started the pork chops yet. “Let’s see, the rice is in progress, I just need to add the mushrooms. I’ve already made the marmalade glaze for the chops.” She’s thinking out loud, and Jupe smiles at her earnest concentration. 

“The tomato-cucumber salad is made and marinading, the spinach is prepped, and the bacon-wrapped asparagus is ready to go in the broiler when I turn the chops. I _think_ I’ve got it.”

“It sounds like a feast!” Jupiter says happily. 

There’s a clatter as Mart Belden and his partner Ben trot down the stairs from the loft. They’re both wearing clean button-down shirts. Jupe is more casual in a neat polo shirt, but all three have made an effort with their appearance.

“Indeed, you would be well-advised to extol it as such, in light of my well-meaning sister’s futile attempts to emulate the entertainment ideology of out esteemed maternal parent,” Mart loftily tells him. “Whereas, I have taken some pains to ensure tasty viands by procuring a sizable array of sliced meats on a baguette as an alternative food source should her preparations go awry.”

“Goose!” Ben chides him. “Trixie has been slaving over this for days, I’m sure it’ll be perfectly lovely!”

Jupiter eyes Mart, who’s inclined to go to linguistic extremes. “Eat your cold sandwich. More for the rest of us.”

“And no dessert if you don’t eat your dinner,” Trixie tells him cheerfully.

“What? Do you mean those brownies that _were_ in the drawer under the over?”

She refuses to be baited. “They’re still there--I haven’t been out of the kitchen since I took them out of the oven. And you haven’t had time to go through the entire half-gallon of ice cream, either.”

Mart tries to look chagrined, but chuckles instead. “You got me, Sis. You’ll do fine.”

The senior Joneses arrive, and the party gets underway. The tomato-cucumber salad is made with produce from Belden Farms, and although the vinaigrette is a trifle peppery, no one is disposed to comment on it.

The most difficult part of any dinner is trying to orchestrate everything to be done at the same time. Thanks to the dome’s open floor-plan, Trixie is still able to join in the dinner-table conversation with her guests as she quickly wilts the spinach and begins plating the mounds of mushroom-rice and topping it with the broiled bacon-wrapped asparagus. The chops are to one side.

Ben helps her serve. ”I’ve had enough gigs waiting tables!” he confides.

“This looks great!” Titus Jones has his knife and fork in hand as soon as everyone is seated with a plate in front of them.

“This looks _familiar_ ,” his wife says. “Trixie...is that Rice-a-Roni?”

“It is!” Mart has no qualms about snitching on his sister. “Two whole boxes worth.”

Trixie looks at the display on her plate. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” she asks Aunt Mathilda with a guilty grin.

“What about Rice-a-Roni?” Jupiter wants to know. “It’s really good, whatever it is.”

“It _is_ good,” Mathilda Jones agrees. “It’s not quite the same as the Rosedrop Cafe’s version, but you’ve done a very creditable job, and these pork chops are perfect! I like what you’ve done with the glaze, too. How did you get those stripes like that?”

“I sieved the marmalade and put the glaze in a squeeze bottle.”

“Wait, what’s this about the Rosedrop Cafe? Mathilda, have you been consorting with that shameless wife-snatcher again?” Uncle Titus looks teasingly over at his wife.

“We were in there several weeks ago,” is her serene reply. “Jean-Francois sends his regards.”

“Jean-Francois? Not Jean-Francois Vidoq?” Mart is flabbergasted. “You don’t mean…the Shouting Chef?!”

“That’s where I knew him from!” Trixie exclaims. “I _thought_ he looked familiar.”

“Looked familiar?” Her brother stares across the table at her. “Moms has been watching his shows for years and years! How could you not recognize him?”

“Around here, everybody looks like somebody!” is her weak rejoinder.

Aunt Mathilda laughs. “Your sister said his risotto was like Rice-a-Roni with cream sauce.”

“To his face?” Mark is horrified.

“Not quite. Then, when he came to our table to see how we were, she started talking about her line of artisanal preserves.”

Trixie is stabbing her pork chop with more vehemence than the tender meat deserves. “Cheer up, kiddo,” Jupe says to her in a low voice. “The only way to deal with that snob is in kind. Don’t worry about it. Dinner is delicious.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” she explains to no one in particular. “But for a place that only serves weird salads, it’s awfully overpriced.”

Everyone is chuckling. _Well, at least they’re having a good time,_ is Trixie’s optimistic thought. _and even Mart isn’t teasing me about the food. I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime!_

The brownies are excellent, and Mart pays her the supreme compliment of telling her they’re as good as their mother’s--although she suspects he’s angling for any leftovers. Fat chance!

After a pleasant hour around the table enjoying after-dinner conversation about the farm and the salvage yard, Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Titus take their leave. Jupiter stays and helps Trixie clean up. “That was terrific!” he compliments her as he dries dishes. “Everything you served was delectable, and nothing about this evening was pretentious. I had a good time, and they did, too.”

“Even the Rice-a-Roni,” she adds, determined to be a good sport about the teasing.

“Especially that. I wish I’d been there to see you square off against Jean-Francois!”

“That’s not how it was!” Trixie protests, a soapy pot-scrubber in one hand and a dismayed expression on her face.

“But it’s so much fun to imagine!” Jupe grins. “And of course, it’s not like he’d start shouting in his own restaurant in the middle of the lunch rush! He only does that to his kitchen staff, or the silly buggers whose restaurants he’s trying to save on TV. I’ll bet he was seething!”

“It was rude,” Trixie sighs. “I’m going to have to apologize.” Like reciprocity, apologizing is another lesson Moms has drilled into her. “I wonder how he’d like a gift basket of artisanal marmalade?”

…


End file.
